


Mischief, Managed!

by Idrelle_Miocovani



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Explicit Language, Gen, Humour, Ravens, Silly, Tumblr Gift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 14:55:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10310765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idrelle_Miocovani/pseuds/Idrelle_Miocovani
Summary: When Elia Lavellan takes one of Leliana's ravens into her care, she probably shouldn't have brought it to the tavern.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is a gift for the lovely [@akuze](http://akuze.tumblr.com/), who won one of my giveaway prizes (a 3000 word short story) [on my tumblr](http://idrelle-miocovani.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> She requested a silly story with her Inquisitor, Elia, teaching one of Leliana's ravens to talk, a la [Mischief the Talking Raven](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yFXU7o0fYII/). I ran with that idea and this is what I came up with! I hope you enjoy. :)
> 
> Just as a disclaimer, I know nothing about caring for birds, aside from what little I could pick up in a quick Google search. If I got anything terribly wrong, I apologize for that!

Before she became Inquisitor, Elia Lavellan had not spent much time in impressive architecture. There were only a handful of elven ruins in the lands traversed by her clan, and these were so broken and overgrown they hardly counted as architecture. So when Solas had led them to Skyhold and the Inquisition claimed it as its base, Elia couldn’t help but be in awe of the place she now called home. After a lifetime in aravels, she had never pictured herself living in a place that had four walls and a roof, let alone a _castle._ But Skyhold’s majestic beauty and the ancient history buried in its very bones called to her in a way that had been completely, utterly unexpected, and she found she loved the striking fortress on sight. 

They had only been settled there for two weeks. Most of the Inquisition had chosen to ignore the pressures they faced, choosing instead to tend to their new home-base. Much of the rubble had been cleared, but there were still many things to be done before the castle could be considered habitable. Cullen was stressfully overseeing the creation of a military barracks and encampment beyond the walls. Josephine was frantically supervising the reparations of the foundations and walls—any time Elia passed her, she saw her rubbing her forehead, muttering about rat infestations in the kitchens and drafts in the living quarters. Leliana, on the other hand, proceeded as if nothing had changed: she had promptly chosen the aviary as her place of operations and continued to manage the day-to-day activities of her spy network without pause. 

The first time Elia mounted the spiraling stairs to the aviary, she knew it was her favourite room in the castle. There was something about the way the torches flickered against the stone walls, the brilliant light shining down from the opening in the ceiling above, the murmur of low voices in dark corners, and the rush of dark wings as Leliana’s messenger ravens took flight. It reminded her of a thieves’ den or an assassin’s guild, or at least the way those things were described in poems or novels. On a more pragmatic level, she knew this was where the heart of the Inquisition lay. Despite the importance of Cullen’s military prowess or Josephine’s negotiations, Leliana was the one who brought them information. She was the one who gave them leverage. When all of Thedas was rallied against their fledgling organization, Elia knew she would need to get her hands dirty if they were ever going to succeed in their mission. 

The aviary was a dark room, for dark deeds. 

Although not all the time. 

_“Squaaaaaaaaaaaawk!”_  

“Are you all right, my lady?” 

Elia glanced up as she saw Leliana approach. With her face cast in shadow, it was impossible to tell whether she was smiling or frowning. Then again, with Leliana, both were equally dangerous. 

“He just… flew over to me,” Elia explained, gesturing to the raven perched on her arm. As soon as she had entered the aviary, the raven had spotted her and made a bee-line for her forearm, latching onto it securely with his claws, cooing and squawking all the way. Though he had flown quickly, he had done so cautiously, swerving to and fro in the air. It was only now that he was on her arm that Elia noticed that there was a slight crook in one of his wings. “I think he wants to be friends,” she added, staring at the bird 

The raven cocked his head and let out a shrill chirp.   

“I must admit, I’m surprised,” Leliana said. “Mischief has been very difficult to manage ever since the attack on Haven.” 

“Why’s that?” 

_I wonder if I can pet him?_ Elia wondered. She didn’t have much experience handling birds. 

“Venatori mages burned the aviary and killed half his flock,” Leliana explained. “Harding found him, brought him with her. His wing was broken. It’s taken him these three months to recover, but even still, he refuses to fly, unless it’s a short hop. He hasn’t allowed anyone to handle him, let alone me—” 

Mischief snapped at Leliana’s fingers, which had drifted too close. She withdrew them quickly. 

“He seems to like me all right,” Elia said. 

Mischief squawked.

“Perhaps you should care for him, Inquisitor,” Leliana proposed, her smile brightening. “He hasn’t been able to deliver messages. It would be good for him to have some company until I can assign someone to retrain him.” 

“I don’t know a thing about birds, let alone messenger ravens,” Elia said. Mischief rustled his feathers and let out a sad squawk. “Oh, don’t look at me like that!” 

Leliana chuckled. “He seems very fond of you already.” 

“Yes,” Elia said as Mischief’s claws tightened around her arm. “He’s very _attached.”_

The faintest smile graced Leliana’s lips. Elia had the feeling she wouldn’t admit to appreciating the pun. 

Elia looked down at the raven and sighed. “I guess he’s not leaving me. I’ll see what I can do.” 

Mischief chirped happily. 

*** 

“And this is where I stay,” Elia said, pushing her door open and climbing the steps to her chambers. 

Mischief was perched on her shoulder, chirping happily as he buried his beak in Elia’s blonde hair. He seemed absolutely enthralled by the mere concept of hair, taking delight in picking up one lock at a time, letting it drop, then catching it before it hit her shoulders. 

“You can fly wherever you want,” Elia continued, “just don’t make a mess. Josephine only made my quarters habitable a week ago. She’d be very unhappy if she found out it got covered in bird droppings— _ouch!”_  

Elia felt the sting as her hair was ripped from her scalp by an overzealous beak. Her left hand slammed into the back of her head, and she glanced down at the bird on her shoulder. Her violet eyes narrowed as she saw the silken strands in his beak. “Hey!” she cried. “That _hurt.”_  

Mischief dropped the strands and cooed sadly. It sounded like an apology. 

It would do.

“Don’t try that again,” Elia scolded gently. “Please,” she added after a moment as Mischief shuffled on her shoulder and buried his head under his wing. 

_Oh, for the Creators’ sake, I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore… Making friends with a raven…_

“You don’t have to stay on my shoulders, you know,” Elia said. “There are plenty of other safe places to explore.” 

Mischief chirped from under his wing. 

“Only if you want to.” 

Mischief cooed. 

“I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to.” 

Mischief squawked. 

“But just so you know, my shoulder _is_ getting a little tired.” 

Mischief’s head popped up from under his wing. He rustled his feathers and then stretched his wings. With a couple of flaps, he took flight, soaring up and up into the rafters of Elia’s room. 

“There you go!” Elia called. “Fly, Mischief, fly!” 

Mischief let out a beautiful cry as he circled round and round, his dark wings glistening in the bright light shining in through the windows. Elia thought of Haven and his broken wing, and how this must be the first time he had truly returned to the air. She grinned, watching the raven fly, captivated by the beauty of his graceful, if slightly crooked, flight.

  _I could get used to having him around,_ she thought. 

Something wet and sticky hit her on the head. 

Elia sighed. 

_“Mischief!”_  

The raven landed on a bedpost and cocked his head innocently, as if to say, _“What did I do?”_  

*** 

“You… got a bird?” 

“He’s not just a bird, Varric, he’s a raven and I’m looking after him for Leliana.”

 Varric raised an eyebrow. “And you thought bringing him to a tavern was a good idea?” he asked as he disappeared behind his tankard. 

Elia glanced fondly at Mischief, who rustled his feathers and cooed happily. “What can I say? He likes to go out and meet people.” 

“I’m surprised Leliana let you touch him,” Varric continued. “She doesn’t like anyone messing with her birds.” 

“She didn’t have much choice,” Elia said. “He chose me.” 

Varric barked a laugh. “Inquisitor Lavellan! Chosen one of gods and birds!” 

“Don’t laugh,” Elia warned, smirking. “In some places, birds and gods are one and the same.” 

It had been a week since Mischief had come into her care. Since then, he had stayed in her chambers, flitting to and fro from her bed posts to her dresser to the mantle above the fireplace. Though she had left the doors to her balcony open, Mischief avoided going outside—something about the great open vastness still terrified him. Whenever he got too close to the door or a gust of wind blew through, he screeched and spiralled off in a panic, landing on a rafter far above. 

So far, only Leliana and Josephine were aware of Elia’s new companion. Josephine had been informed when a servant had brought food to Elia’s chambers and Mischief had promptly landed on her tray, tearing the fried fish to pieces. The servant had dropped the tray and ran out of the room, screaming about a ghost. Josephine had investigated and, armed with a broom and thinking Mischief to be a pest, almost succeeded in chasing him away when Elia burst in and explained the situation (and the bird droppings). 

Josephine was less than pleased. Aside from the time Elia had witnessed her negotiations with a chauvinistic Orlesian lord turn awry, she had never seen Josephine so… frazzled. 

They had unanimously agreed not to speak about it, although Josephine did insist that Elia clean up after the bird herself. 

“So what are you planning to do with this raven?” Varric asked. 

“I don’t know yet,” Elia said. “Mostly I want him to be able to fly outside again. The whole sky was his once. It makes me said to think it may never be again, because of fear. Some creatures aren’t meant to stay grounded.” 

Mischief chirped and nuzzled the side of her head. 

“Hey boss! Nice bird.” The Iron Bull slammed his drink onto the table as he sat down, slopping the contents over the edge of his tankard. “Suits you. Gives you a look.” 

“What do you mean?” Elia asked, taking a sip of her drink.

“Makes you look _badass,”_ Bull answered. “Think about it. Now you can stand on a hill, facing down your enemies alone. You raise your bow, say a witty one-liner, and then— _boom_ —your raven comes down and pecks out the eyes of your enemies while you rain arrows down upon them!” 

He laughed heartily and took another drink. 

Elia frowned. “I don’t know about that.” 

“Trust me, it’ll be _badass,”_ Bull insisted. “The only way you can make it more badass is if you had a dragon. Now, picture this—” 

“And I thought you were the writer,” Krem said as he squeezed between Varric and Elia. The rest of the Chargers followed him to the table, chatting merrily as they slung back their drinks. “I think the Chief’s giving you a run for your money.” 

Varric snorted. “Horseshit! If I was going to write a scene like that, I’d give it much more grace and tact. You can’t be badass all the time, you need to balance it out. Otherwise, it doesn’t mean anything.”

Krem chortled into his bottle. “You’ve thought about this a lot. Writing a book already?” 

Varric spat out his drink. 

“Varric?” Elia said, eyebrows arched. “You have something you want to tell me?” 

Varric shrugged, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ve been thinking… about writing something…” 

“About?” 

“About you.” He put his tankard down and spread his hands. “Look, Elia, I’ll be honest. _The Tale of the Champion_ was very successful. _The Tale of the Inquisitor_ will be even more so. So obviously there’s financial merit in me putting our adventures to pen and paper. And there’s going to be books written about you regardless, so… wouldn’t you want a friend to do it first?” 

“Did you just wink at me?” 

“Yes. Maybe.” 

Mischief cawed. 

“Only on one condition,” Elia said. “You have to make me _badass.”_  

“BADASS!” Bull roared, slamming his drink on the table. 

“I don’t think I’ll have any problems there,” Varric said. “Andraste’s tits, you stared down a dragon! While on fire!” 

Elia smiled. “That I did.” 

Mischief cawed and flapped his wings. 

“I think your feathery little friend there agrees,” Krem said. 

“I wonder how much he understands?” Skinner asked, thrumming her fingers against her drink. 

“Ravens are smart,” Dalish said. “Smarter than _all_ of you.” She pointed demonstratively at her companions. 

Rocky snorted. “That’s not hard.” 

“I take offense to that,” Stitches growled. 

Grim grunted. 

Bull roared with laughter. 

“Do you think you can teach it to talk?” Krem asked. “If it’s so smart and all. I’ve heard of that. Talking birds.” 

“Maybe,” Elia said. “Not sure how much he would be able to say. Any ideas, Varric?” 

Varric guffawed. “Why are you asking me?” 

“Because you know everything.” 

“Why, thank you, Inquisitor,” Varric said. “What a shining compliment.” He took a drink. “I have no fucking idea whether or not a raven can talk. Ask Leliana.” 

“Some can.” 

“Or you can just wait for one of her subordinates to arrive and you can ask them,” Varric added. “Hi, Harding.” 

Scout Harding appeared, a smile on her freckled face and a drink in her hand. “Hey, Varric. Mind if I join you?” 

“Not at all,” Elia said, shoving over to make room. 

Mischief cooed. 

“He’s so cute,” Harding said as she sat down. “It’s good to see him happy. Just be careful he doesn’t pick up any bad habits. They’re awful hard to get rid of.” 

“Don’t worry,” Elia said. “He’s already pooped on my head. I don’t think it can get much worse than that.” 

***

 It _could_ get much worse than that. 

Mischief had stayed with her the entire night, swaying on her shoulder and squawking happily as Elia and her companions drank, sang and poked drunken fun at each other. When Varric roped them all into playing Wicked Grace, Mischief fluttered around the table, nipping at the cards. Elia thought he liked the colourful pictures on the face cards, but later she wondered whether he had been trying to get her to drop from the game as she had lost every round and now owed Krem a handful of sovereigns. The night had devolved into a chorus of drunken singing and Elia was rather surprised she had been able to stumble all the way up to her chambers with a bird on her shoulder. 

The next morning she awoke with a splitting headache, groggy vision and Mischief’s beak two inches away from her nose. 

_“Tits.”_  

Elia thought she misheard. Her eyes narrowed and she tried to shoo Mischief away. The raven dodged her hand, jumping out of reach across her pillow. 

_“Tits! Tits! Tits!”_

_"Fenedhis lasa,_ what’s up with you?” Elia muttered, forcing herself to sit up and blink away the bleariness from her eyes.   

Mischief continued to bounce up and down, prancing across her bedspread, cheerfully chirping. _“Tits! Fuck! Balls!”_  

“Shit,” Elia said. 

_“Shit! Shit! Shit!”_

“No, Mischief,” Elia said. _“No.”_  

Mischief stopped talking. He bent his beak and preened his feathers. _“…shit-tits!”_  

Elia let out a strangled yell and jumped out of bed. 

_I’m going to kill you, Varric. And Bull. And Krem. And—why, oh why, did I think bringing Mischief to the tavern was a good idea?_  

Whether Elia like it or not, one thing was certain: everyone at the tavern last night had unwittingly taught her raven to curse like a pirate. 

_Well, at least he’ll get along with Sera…_

Elia held out her arm. “Come on, Mischief,” she said. “We’re going to see Leliana.” 

_“Shit!”_ Mischief chirped and fluttered to her arm. 

“Yes,” Elia sighed. “Exactly.” 

She knew her hair looked like a haystack and her breath probably still smelt of alcohol, but that didn’t matter. Elia charged through the castle halls, burst into the rotunda and pounded up the staircase to the aviary. She winced at Solas and Dorian’s surprised greetings as Mischief cawed expletives at them. 

“Sorry!” she yelled as she ran by them. 

Leliana was deep into a pile of reports when Elia burst into the room. 

“Inquisitor!” Leliana exclaimed, looking up. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?” 

Breathless, Elia gestured to Mischief. 

“He looks fine to me,” Leliana began. “Even better, under your care, I might add—” 

_“Shit-balls!”_  

“Oh!” Leliana’s eyes went wide. “Oh dear.” 

_“Tits! Tits! Tits!”_ Mischief cawed happily, flapping his wings. 

“I… er… I see what you mean,” Leliana said. 

“I’m so sorry,” Elia said. “He came to the tavern with me last night and it seems he overheard some… things… from our friends.” 

“I can imagine which ones,” Leliana said, her brow furrowed as she examined the happily cussing raven. “But he seems remarkably improved from last week, all in all.” 

“He likes flying in my room,” Elia said. “And he wants to follow me everywhere.” 

_“Shit!”_ Mischief cawed in agreement. 

“I don’t think I can re-employ him as a messenger bird after this, Inquisitor,” Leliana said. “I can’t have the Orlesian crown receiving notices on the back of a swearing bird, I’m sure you understand. Perhaps he can continue to remain with you?” 

“I think he’d prefer it that way,” Elia said as Mischief’s claws tightened around her arm. “Is there anyway to teach him to—you know—stop saying _that?”_

_“TITS!”_ Mischief cawed. 

Elia sighed. “I’m pretty sure he got that from Varric saying ‘Andraste’s tits.’” 

Leliana rolled her eyes. “Of course,” she said witheringly. “But to be honest, Inquisitor,” she added, “I have no idea if I can correct this.” 

_“TITS!”_

“Just keep him away from the aviary until he calms down. We can’t have him teaching such language to the rest of the flock, no?” 

Elia nodded. “Of course. Come on, Mischief. Let’s go.” 

_“Shit!”_  

Leliana wasn’t wrong about most things, but in this case, she had underestimated the cleverness of her ravens. As Mischief’s condition improved and he began flying outside, the rest of Leliana’s ravens began to pick up a peculiar fondness for swearing at the most inopportune moments. Some months later, it was impossible to visit the aviary without being greeting by a chorus of _“Shit”s_ , _“Tits”_ and _“fuck you”_ s, accompanied by a chorus of flapping wings. The Skyhold messenger ravens had been undoubtedly and thoroughly corrupted. 

As for Mischief, he remained at Elia’s side (or, more accurately, her shoulder) for the rest of his days, swearing happily and immortalizing her as the badass Inquisitor with the pet raven.


End file.
